


Dress Up in You

by hi_irashay, nitpickyabouttrains



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Costumes, GET READY FRIENDS, Gen, IT'S QUITE A RIDE, Mainly the swapping of costumes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hi_irashay/pseuds/hi_irashay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitpickyabouttrains/pseuds/nitpickyabouttrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which everyone puts on the suit, though perhaps not the one intended for them, and goes a few rounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Captain Ironpants

**Author's Note:**

> This past summer, NitpickyAboutTrains came to visit Hi_Irashay. Some light banter before breakfast turned into this epic fic idea, which we then wrote throughout the rest of 2014. 
> 
> THE PREMISE: What if everyone dressed as everyone else and SHENANIGANS ENSUED?  
> THE OUTCOME: Hopefully a topsy turvy fic odyssey full of DELIGHTFUL SHENANIGANS.
> 
> As two Queens of Team Angst, writing a lighthearted comedy was AN ADVENTURE for us (sometimes it just feels wrong to NOT be torturing someone, amirite?). Regardless, we do hope you enjoy this wild safari!

Bruce pushed open the door and went to flick on the light for the lab, only to find it was already on. In fact, the whole room was buzzing with electricity, awake and alive. Well, almost all awake, because as he took another step in, Bruce’s eyes fell on the slumped over form of Tony Stark, passed out fast asleep on his workbench.

“Huh?” Bruce grunted, surprised.

He had been planning to get some work done that afternoon. It was supposed to be quiet, empty, and Bruce wanted to take advantage of that. Not that he didn’t enjoy working with Tony around, he did. They shared space well and Tony never seemed to treat him any differently.

Tony was one of the only people who could do that. Keep up with him about science, talk to him normally as a man, and still fight with him as Hulk. It was refreshing, and Bruce knew he was lucky to have someone like Tony in his life. Especially because Tony also had this state-of-the-art lab he was willing to share and collaborate in. It was like a playground. Every piece of equipment Bruce could ever dream of, all there for his use.

But as much as he liked working with Tony, sometimes Tony got to talking. He got loud. He made a mess. He liked to figure things out the hard way. And Bruce could only take so much.

So he had planned to use this afternoon, when Tony was supposed to be out doing a publicity stunt as Iron Man. Except that Tony was still there, in the lab. When Bruce knew for a fact he was also out doing a demonstration in the suit, it had been on the news.

“Hey,” Bruce said, putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder firmly, and giving it a little shake, trying to wake him up.

“Hrmph,” Tony groaned, burrowing his head deeper into his arms.

Bruce smirked and moved his hand to Tony’s side, giving him a hard poke just under his ribs. “Wake up, Stark. You have places to be.”

“Five more minutes.” Tony still did not open his eyes, but he did make a few full words, which Bruce thought was progress. Progress, although admittedly not enough for Bruce to give up.

He tried another tactic, trying to scare him awake, and appealing to his vanity. “Tony, if you don’t get up now, I will dye your hair blue while you sleep.”

“I would look sexy with blue hair,” Tony mumbled, turning his head toward Bruce and opening his eyes just a little, so that he was squinting. He pursed his lips together, as if imagining how he would look. “I could totally pull it off.”

Bruce did not bother arguing, he only countered. “But what would Pepper say?”

“Pepper would love me even if I had a green mohawk,” Tony said confidently, sitting up and turning to look at Bruce, his eyes twinkling. 

“If you say so,” Bruce said with a grin and a shrug.

“I do,” Tony said flippantly. “But I might not keep loving you, unless you have a good reason for waking me up. I was having a really good dream. I would tell you about it, but I don’t want to shock you. Let’s just say chocolate sauce, a feather boa, and Thor’s cape were involved.”

Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s two in the afternoon. I came in to use the lab, I thought you were supposed to be at the big opening.”

“Well, shit,” Tony said, his eyes going wide, but not getting up or moving in a hurry at all. It was the look of someone who knew the world would be waiting, even if he took his time. “Better fashionably late than never, I suppose.” Tony ran a well-practiced hand through his hair, rearranging the strands in an artful muss. “I guess I should get a move on.”

“That’s the thing,” Bruce admitted. “I thought you were already there. I saw the news before and Iron Man was flying around.”

“Huh,” Tony said, looking confused. “That is weird.”

“Rhodey, maybe?” Bruce suggested, “Or Pepper? Would one of them have stepped in for you and worn the suit?”

“No, Rhodey has his own suit. He knows better than to steal mine.” Tony considered the options. “And Pepper hates that thing. She thinks it’s a death trap. No way she would get in unless the world was in danger. It has to be someone else.”

Bruce stared at him, because Tony really didn’t seem that bothered to learn that there was someone else in his Iron Man outfit, a weapon. Someone pretending to be him. “Why don’t you seem like you are worried?”

Tony stood up and moved to face his computers. “Whoever it is, Jarvis had to let them in. Which means they can’t be that bad. Isn’t that right, Jarvis?”

“That’s right, sir,” Jarvis intoned.

Sometimes Bruce forgot Jarvis was always there, always available. In this case, it could be useful though. “Jarvis, can you bring up the live footage from the opening, please?” Bruce asked.

The screen flicked on and suddenly, the wall lit up with the live news broadcast. Sure enough, there was Iron Man, standing next to Pepper on the podium. The mask was down, but he was waving at the crowd, soaking in the energy, just like Tony loved to do. Bruce glanced over at Tony, then back at the screen, and then back again.

“I didn’t clone myself, if that is what you are thinking,” Tony said, also staring at the screen. “Although you would be lucky if there were two of me in this world.”

“So then how do you explain it?” Bruce asked.

“Jarvis, connect me to the communicator inside of Iron Man,” Tony requested, holding back a laugh as the Iron Man on the screen walked over to the side of the stage, sashaying his hips from side to side dramatically.

“Connecting,” Jarvis said, then there was a quick beep.

“Hello, Captain Ironpants,” Tony greeted, as soon as they could hear breathing through the com link.

“Tony?” came Steve’s confused voice. On the screen, Iron Man paused and looked around, like he was trying to find someone.

“Why are you confused?” Tony asked. “I should be the confused one. I woke up from my nap to find out you are out there pretending to be me. I didn’t even know you wanted a go in my pants. I mean, of course you did, everyone wants to get in my pants. But usually I am there too, to enjoy the ride.”

Iron Man actually covered his masked face with his weaponized hands on the stage, and the sound of Steve’s groan filled the room. “This suit has been more trouble than it was worth.”

“What was it worth?” Bruce asked out of curiosity.

“Bruce?” Steve asked, sounding almost resigned. He did not wait for an answer though. “What do you mean?”

Tony shook his head and answered before Bruce had a chance. “He means, how did you end up in the suit in the first place?”

“I was at your place, Stark, to drop off an envelope from Fury,” Steve explained. “Pepper came in, steamed at you, because she couldn’t find you and she was going to be late. She is sort of scary when she is mad, and I asked if I could help in any way, you know, to keep her from yelling. And she told me to get in the suit and come with her.”

“And you did?” Tony asked, this time not holding back on his bark of laughter.

Steve’s voice was sullen. “Her face was all red and she was shouting. What else was I supposed to do? Leave a lady in a pinch?”

“Oh man,” Tony said, almost gleefully. “That’s not it, is it? You aren’t just being chivalrous. Pepper promised you something, didn’t she? What is it? What are you getting out of this, Captain?”

Steve groaned in defeat. “She said she would set me up.”

“Well, I would not want to get in the way of that,” Tony said gleefully. “You go back to pretending to be me, so that my girlfriend can get you a date.” Then he disconnected the conversation, before Steve could get in a rebuttal.

Bruce shook his head, and turned to go over to his work bench, now that all of that was solved. A thought occurred to him. He looked back over his shoulder at Tony and asked, “How did you know it was Steve?”

Tony shot him a grin, “Did you see the way he was walking? I would recognize that ass anywhere.”


	2. Thundering Drapes

Friday night at 10:00pm was normally met with one of two conditions in Stark Tower - 1) a lavish bacchanal of sights and sounds as the squad shook off a stressful week together, or 2) blissful quiet as they went their separate ways.  Tonight, Bruce was pleased to see, was the latter.  He had been reading articles on novel nanoparticle technology undisturbed for several hours, and was itching to get some hands-on experience downstairs in the lab.

 _Alone again, naturally_ , Bruce thought to himself with a satisfied smile. He headed for the elevator, a few of the more intriguing articles tucked under his arm for further study.  He pressed the button for the lab level almost absentmindedly, mental cogs already whirring and planning for how he was going to set up his next experiment.

The soft chime of the elevator snapped him out of his reverie.  He was surprised to hear soft strains of music coming from inside the lab. _Perhaps not so alone after all_ , he mused, wondering hopefully if maybe Tony had just forgotten to turn the sound system off before leaving for the day.   _Not that Tony ever really leaves for the day,_ Bruce amended to himself, smiling softly at the thought.

Sure enough, after Bruce keyed into the lab the soft strains turned into a wall of sound - Led Zeppelin, to Bruce’s limited knowledge - almost slamming him back into the door with the force of the power chords.  The mostly empty bottle of vodka on one of the lab benches made Bruce’s steps wary, as a drunk Tony was even more unpredictable than a sober one.  

Bruce’s fears were unfounded when it became readily apparent that this version of Drunk Tony was a happy one, who at the moment was dancing wildly to some song about coming from the land of ice and snow.  Lots of howling.  Tony threw a hand holding a glass of vodka in the air, sloshing the clear liquid all over himself as he gave a resounding howl along with the music.

“VALHALLA, I AM COMING!” screeched Tony, seemingly oblivious to Bruce’s presence.  Bruce slunk into the shadows behind a large tool cabinet. _This ought to be good._

As Tony gyrated around the room, his eyes came to rest on the workbench he must have abandoned to dance.  On it, Bruce noted, lay some complicated sketches and various tools.  Tony’s other hand darted towards the bench and grabbed a large hammer.  Tony took another long drink of his vodka as he stared at the hammer with wonder.

“Valhalla indeed, for I am THOR ODINSON.”  Tony raised the hammer high into the air, pumping it in time with the music.  Keeping his other hand in the air, Tony proceeded to drain what remained of the vodka in his glass before setting the glass down to engage both arms in his wild dance.  

“We MUST make merry, there shall be great rejoicing in Asgard.”  Tony’s speech had become an affected, over-dramatic rendition of Thor’s booming voice.  “Great rejoicing, brew and song.”  Tony punctuated each syllable with a swing of the hammer, startling himself when the hammer made contact with the work bench.

“I am Thor, and this is my Mummy… my Muffin… my Milkshake, which brings the men to the yard!”  Tony made to swing the hammer around his head when suddenly he lost his grip, sending the hammer clattering to the floor in front of Bruce’s hiding place.  Bruce let out a sharp bark of a laugh, this was just too much.

“WHAT MANNER OF DECEPTION IS THIS,” shouted Tony, leveling an accusing glare at Bruce without breaking step with his impersonation.

“I think you mean Mjolnir, oh powerful one,” Bruce played along as he retrieved the hammer.  “And here you go.”  Bruce gave a small bow as he handed the tool over, which made Tony smile.

“Thank you, fair human.  You are tiny and polite, and worthy of my protection.”  Tony gave an imperious nod, before adding, “At least in your present form.  I have a high regard for your other, more verdant form as well.”

Bruce snorted.  “So I guess it’s IMITATE THOR WHILE HE IS BACK ON ASGARD AND THEREFORE CAN’T GET UPSET night, huh?”  

Tony nodded, swaying slightly on his feet as he raised the hammer and wiggled it in Bruce’s face.  “You likey?  You wanty to play-y?  I think I have some horns around here if you want to be Loki and we can play at some brotherly love.”

“I think you’re better off as a one-man show, Tony,” Bruce said, his mouth quirking upward into a smile.

“But Brucie, baby, this is uncomplete.”  Tony hiccuped loudly.  “Uncom-, incompat-, incomPLETE.  Not finished, like this bottle.”  Tony lurched towards the remains of the bottle of vodka, emptying it in a big swig before turning around to regard Bruce thoughtfully.  “And you, my episodically emerald escort, are just the man to help me finish it.”

Bruce cocked an eyebrow. “Leave it to you to to be an alliterative drunk.  What did you have in mind?"

“First, more booze.  I have a spare in that tool cabinet you were lurking behind.”  Tony stared at Bruce with glassy, but expectant eyes.  Bruce walked over to the cabinet and pulled out Tony’s “spare,” which turned out to be a half-full bottle of an amber liquid.  Probably bourbon.  Tony took the bottle from him gratefully, taking a drink and giving a contented sigh.

“Willst thou partaketh with me, good sir?”  Tony didn’t wait for an answer, pouring a generous measure into the glass that had previously held his vodka.  Tony thrust the glass into Bruce’s hand as he wobbled towards the door.  Bruce drank deeply, enjoying the pleasant burn of the bourbon as it traveled down his throat.

“And now, to the Room of Living for the grand finale.”  Tony staggered out of the lab, pressing the button to call the elevator and leaning his forehead on the wall for support.  “When will this blasted room stop spinning?  I demand to know.”

Bruce laughed, taking another draught of bourbon as he followed Tony out.  He didn’t dare touch Tony unannounced, not when Tony was so wobbly and holding a bludgeoning tool.  Instead Bruce hovered nearby, subtly shepherding Tony into the elevator once it arrived.   _I am a sheepdog of the drunk,_ Bruce thought wryly to himself.  

Bruce finished his bourbon just as the elevator dinged, Tony sauntering out immediately with an air of drunken purpose.  Bruce followed, curious as to what one of Stark Tower’s many sprawling living rooms could have that Tony felt he needed for his Thor act.

“There, good man, if you could find it in you to retrieve them for me.”  Tony settled onto a plush armchair, looking expectantly at Bruce.

Bruce looked around again - “What am I supposed to get, Tony?”  He scrutinized the room, nothing jumping out at him as Asgardian-esque.

Tony pointed with the hammer, shaking it emphatically.  “The DRAPES, Bruce, the drapes!”

Bruce followed the line of the hammer, and had to hold back a laugh for about the tenth time that evening.  Gracing each window were long red drapes, currently pulled shut to block out the light from the city.

“You are still so proud of that line, aren’t you?” Bruce inquired, walking to the nearest window and reaching up to loosen the curtain rod.

Tony didn’t answer right away - a quick look over his shoulder told Bruce he was quickly draining the bourbon bottle.  Bruce turned back to the drapes, pulling one panel off the rod when he heard Tony reply, in his facsimile of Thor’s deep tones, “I recognize a good jest when I am faced with it."

“You do jest well, Tony,” Bruce replied, depositing the swath of red fabric in Tony’s lap.  Tony bounded up immediately, bourbon bottle temporarily abandoned on the side table next to the chair, and proceeded to get himself tangled in the drape.

“Confound this material, what trickery is this?”  Tony queried, loudly, as he struggled with the cloth.  Bruce snorted and moved to help Tony untangle himself, arranging the drape loosely about Tony’s shoulders.

“I value your assistance, tiny human.”  Tony drew the drape around him with a deep, imperial nod.  “Thor Odinson is naught without his raiment.”  

Tony took the fabric in one hand, pulling it up in front of his chest like a toreador as he held the ever-present hammer up in his other. “We are your overlords,” he said, in a slightly sing-song tone, his eyebrows waggling in time. _Must be more of that song from before..._

“I meant to ask you,” Bruce started, “What WAS that song you were blast-”

“I AM YOUR OVERLORD!” Tony shouted, resuming his erratic dancing and sweeping of the hammer.  He managed to knock loose a few lamps and kick up the rug before the drape got the better of him, tangling around his feet and sending him tumbling into Bruce.

Bruce sighed, bringing an arm below Tony’s knees to scoop him up - many a night had ended in this manner, and it was a routine he knew well.

“Even overlords need their sleep, Tony.”  Bruce headed back into the hallway and started for the last room on the left - luckily Tony had picked the living room on the same floor as his bedroom.

“Thor, mortal.” Tony grumbled, nuzzling slightly against Bruce as they walked.  “Do not slight me in this way.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” replied Bruce, “And even if I did dream of it, the almighty Thor would know and come smite me.”

“Hey, I AM MIGHTY,” bellowed Tony into Bruce’s chest.

“Sure you are,” placated Bruce, nudging open the door to Tony’s bedroom with his hip and calling softly to Jarvis for the lights.

“One swing of this hammer, this Mordor hammer, and I will smite thee and thine mother to pieces.”  Tony’s speech was increasingly slurred, his head lolling over.

“I know, oh mighty Thor, I meant no disrespect.”  Bruce gently placed Tony on his bed, removing his shoes and shuffling him under the covers.  Tony’s eyes were already closed as he burrowed into the pillows.

“Thor knows, and Thor will not forget.” Tony mumbled, before a series of loud snores indicated he had fallen into the deep sleep of the deeply inebriated.

“And neither will Bruce,” Bruce chuckled softly, smoothing Tony’s spiky hair away from his forehead.  “Just you wait until tomorrow when I name my terms for not repeating this to the others.”

Bruce walked to the door, manually flicking off the lights on his way.  He turned for one last look at Tony’s sleeping form illuminated by the light from the hallway.  He had to stifle another loud laugh, for still clutched in Tony’s tightly curled fist, pulled up right next to his head on the pillow, was the hammer.


	3. Red-Tailed Hawk(eye)

“Hey Barton,” Bruce said, waving halfheartedly, as he walked into the kitchen. He barely spared a glance at the other man, who was so often found rummaging around for food.

“Banner,” Clint greeted with a nod.

Bruce opened the fridge to rummage around, but there was not much to find. With a sigh, he closed the door, intending to see what was in the cabinets. He could hear Clint munching on something, so there had to be some food in Stark Tower.

He turned to sneak a peek at what Clint was eating, because it would be quicker to just grab some of the other man’s food, but then he caught sight of Clint, and groaned.

Barton was sitting on a stool by the counter, a spoon in one hand and a bowl of cereal in the other, naked as the day he was born. There was not a stitch of clothing on him. Not even his ever-present sunglasses. His bare ass was on the chair, and he was just eating, like everything was normal.

“Uh, Clint?” Bruce cleared his throat, not sure he even wanted to know. But he was a scientist. He hated mysteries. It would bother him if he didn’t find out.

“Yeah, Bruce?” Clint said, mimicking Bruce’s calm and questioning tone.

Bruce was not one to be embarrassed easily. He had woken up naked himself, after turning back from being the Big Guy, more than just a few times. Hell, most of the Avengers had seen his ass for that very reason. But this was still unusual behavior in Stark Tower.

“You’re, uh, not wearing any clothing,” Bruce said directly. “Did you know?”

“I know,” Clint said waving his spoon in the air lazily.

Bruce paused, waiting for Clint to say something else, but the other man did not seem like he was going to present any more information. “Clint?” Bruce said again.

“Yeah, Bruce?” Clint said again, his voice exactly the same as before, taking a big bite of his cereal, crunching down loudly.

“Why are you not wearing any clothing?” Bruce asked what he had thought was implied in his last statement, but had still not been answered. Clint was a smart guy, smarter than most people realized. There was probably a good reason for the nudity, Bruce figured.

Much to Bruce’s chagrin, Clint spun around slowly in his seat, so that he was face to face with Bruce now. He had put down the bowl and spoon, so there was nothing in front of him at all now. Not even the table. Even comfortable with the body, the way any scientist who regularly found himself transformed into a giant green monster had to be, Bruce could feel the tips of his ears turning red.

“I couldn’t find my suit,” Clint said, shrugging.

Bruce rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, trying to be kind. Because when Clint shrugged, every single muscle in his body moved. And Bruce was able to see it all. “Don’t you have a few?”

“Sure,” Clint agreed. “I have three. But one is dirty, from the mission I was on yesterday. One has a huge tear on the knee, from when I jumped out of that building. Fury sent it off to get mended and it’s not back yet.”

“And the third one is missing,” Bruce filled in the end of the story.

“It is,” Clint agreed. “I have no idea what could have happened to it. But I promised Natasha that I would work with her on using some of my specialty arrows today.”

Bruce closed his eyes and asked what he felt was a fairly obvious question. “Why don’t you just wear something else? You don’t need the Hawkeye gear to work in the shooting range with Natasha. I am sure it wouldn’t make a difference.”

“The effect is different,” Clint insisted. “And learning about weapons is best in simulated circumstances, so that nothing takes you by surprise in the real world.”

“Okay…” Bruce drew out. “But you wouldn’t go on a mission naked. This isn’t any closer to real.”

“I agree,” Clint said happily, or at least as happily as Bruce ever heard him. “I am not planning to work with Natasha like this. She would punch me. I’m sure the suit will turn up soon. It has to be around here somewhere, I’m not done looking yet.”

“It doesn’t really look like you are looking,” Bruce pointed out, giving up and opening his eyes; it was too hard to have a whole conversation not looking at the person he was talking to. “It looks like you are having breakfast.”

The corner of Clint’s mouth quirked up in amusement. “I was checking every room. When I got in here, I didn’t find the outfit, but I did find the cereal. So I decided to take a break.”

Bruce snorted, he knew Clint enough to know he was only looking for one thing in the kitchen and it was not his suit. “You didn’t even put on something else to search the tower?”

“Seemed pointless, I am just going to put on my suit when I find it,” Clint pointed out. “If I am wearing something else, I would just leave another pile of clothing. And Tony is always yelling at me for that, so I thought I would save the trouble.”

“Hmm,” Bruce considered, humming as he thought. It was not the worst logic he had ever heard. The most naked, maybe, but not the worst.

“Save what trouble?” Natasha asked from the doorway.

Clint and Bruce both turned to look at her, Clint’s hand reflexively going to shield his groin, a courtesy he had not given Bruce. “Natasha!” Clint exclaimed.

“You were supposed to meet me in the range like twenty minutes ago,” she said, but she did not sound mad or upset.

In fact, there was a huge grin on her face. Bruce did not have to look at her long to understand why. She was wearing the Hawkeye suit. It was a little big on her, baggy around the chest and long in the legs, but overall she was actually pulling it off well. Bruce let out a small chuckle and told her as much. “Looking good, Romanoff.”

“Hey!” Clint said indignantly, pointing right at her, “that’s mine!”

“I know,” Natasha said slowly, like she was speaking to a small child. “That’s why I am wearing it. I figured if I was going to learn how to use your weapons, I should fit the part.” Her eyes ran up and down his bare body. “You were clearly not thinking the same thing.”

“I was looking for my suit,” Clint tried to defend himself.

“It’s pretty comfortable,” Natasha said, stretching out her arms and looking down at herself, “I am not sure I am going to be giving it back.”

“Natasha,” Clint whined, sounding very suddenly like a kicked younger sibling, begging his older sister for a toy, “I need it.”

An evil sort of look came into Natasha’s eyes. “Shoot you for it.”

Then she turned and walked back out the door the way she had come. Both Bruce and Clint watched her go, staring, in silence. When Bruce turned to look at Clint, he was still looking at the empty doorway, a low growl coming from him.

“If I were you,” Bruce offered, “I would go after her. I think she was serious.”

Clint nodded, hopping off the stool, and was running out the door, before Bruce could say anything else. “Nat! Wait up!”

There was something about her smile, about the way Clint ran after her. It was a level of comfort that amazed him. They didn’t think about personal space, about boundaries, not even when it came to something as personal as their costumes. Because of The Big Guy, he was never that free with anyone, could never be. The idea of it smarted a little.

Bruce rolled his eyes, and resigned himself not to go anywhere near the range that morning, not until he saw Natasha and Clint again, both clothed.


	4. Star-Spangled Sandwiches

Bruce awoke to a none-too-subtle grumbling in his stomach.  This happened occasionally, more often than not after a stint as the Other Guy - being so large and so _angry_ left a man feeling hungry for days, it seemed.

He looked at the clock, its tiny illuminated numbers letting him know it was far too late for dinner, but far too early for breakfast.   _3:00am shame snack it is_ , Bruce thought to himself as he rolled to his feet and fumbled for his slippers at the side of the bed.

He shuffled down the hall in the pre-dawn dark, enjoying the momentary silence and solitude of Stark Tower, which eluded him most of the time. Bruce’s head felt slightly foggy - he still wasn’t entirely awake at this hour, hunger or not.  His sight remained hazy as he turned into the kitchen and flicked on the lights.

Bruce winced, the lights of the kitchen making an over-bright assault on his eyes.  His vision took a few moments to adjust, but no amount of ocular adjustment could prepare him for the sight before him.  For there sat Clint, eating what looked to be a triple-decker sandwich, fully decked out in the Captain America uniform from star-spangled head to toe.

Bruce blinked.  Clint brought his gaze up to meet Bruce’s, steadily munching on his sandwich, and blinked right back.  They stared openly at each other for several beats, accompanied by the soundtrack of Clint’s sandwich and the soft buzz of Bruce’s growing confusion.

Without a word, Bruce backed into the hallway and turned the kitchen lights out behind him, making to hasten back to his bedroom.  He made it a few paces down the hallway before his brain caught up to him.   _What in the world…_ Bruce quickly turned back to confront Clint.

Upon reentering the kitchen and switching on the lights once more, Bruce was met with an empty room.  No company save the pile of crumbs on a plate where Clint’s sandwich had been.  Bruce walked closer to examine the plate when a flash of silver caught his eye.  There, in the corner, lay a pile of spangled fabric - Cap’s uniform.

Bruce barked out a sharp laugh as he picked up the crumpled uniform.  It faded to a low chuckle as he neatly folded the uniform and carefully draped it over his left arm.  He still wanted a snack - Clint’s sandwich had given him inspiration - and intended to leave the uniform outside Steve’s room on his way back to bed.  

Bruce turned to retrieve the bread and came face to face with Clint, who was now wearing a rumpled t-shirt and sweatpants.  His quiver was thrown over his shoulder almost casually, and Clint was idly fingering the string of his bow.

Bruce again blinked at him, and Clint again blinked in return, his gaze cool and steady.  They maintained eye contact, the corners of Clint’s mouth quirking upward as he continued the steady rhythm of his finger on the bowstring.  After a few silent minutes, Clint reached out and took the Cap uniform off of Bruce’s arm, slinging it over his own.  He then turned on his heel and vanished down the hall.

Bruce let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, before diverting his course to the fridge for a beer to accompany his eventual sandwich. _These people…_ A shadowy thread chewed its way through Bruce’s mind.  It had started out innocently enough, with Steve moonlighting as Tony for work purposes, but now… _It’s almost as if they’re all in on it,_ Bruce thought.   _Everyone but me._ He sipped his beer, the cool carbonation helping to ease his troubled mind as he planned the ingredients for his sandwich.


	5. God of Shrunken Lycra

_Laundry day,_ Bruce thought glumly to himself as he gazed at the beautiful day outside the window. It always seemed to be the gorgeous days where he was stuck inside, never the rainy and dreary ones. That said, to Bruce doing laundry always felt like a privilege. It meant he hadn’t Hulked out a lot, at least not in an unplanned fashion, and thus had a surplus of clothes that needed laundering instead of tattered remains. Anyway, the day might not end up a total waste - perhaps, if he hustled, he could still get in a walk before the sun set.

Bruce hastened to the laundry room, bouncing his basket slightly against his hip. He entered the room to find Thor’s imposing frame hunched over the dryer.

“Hello, Thor,” called Bruce amicably. “Laundry day for you, too, huh?”

As Bruce came next to Thor to place his clothes in the washer, he noticed the horrorstruck look on Thor’s face. Thor cradled what looked like a tiny doll’s costume in his hands, which seemed almost comically large in comparison.

“Banner, what have I done?” Thor’s tone was dismayed, almost frantic, as he shook the black cloth in Bruce’s direction. “This machine hoodwinks me!” He glared at the dryer, and Bruce chuckled at the thought of Thor demanding to meet it in battle.

“It happens, buddy, some things shouldn’t go in the dryer. Let’s see what we can do...” Bruce reached for the fabric, but Thor shrunk back from him, clutching the black material protectively to his broad chest.

“I swear, Banner, I know not how this happened.” His face fell, as he finally held the cloth up for Bruce’s inspection. It was not some garment of Thor’s, Bruce noted, but… _Ohhhhh lord._ It was Natasha’s uniform.

“Nat’s… catsuit, thing.” Bruce muttered under his breath, finally understanding Thor’s fear. _I wonder if she knows how much she intimidates him,_ Bruce thought to himself, before internally scoffing as he realized - _Of course she does._

Thor nodded mutely, staring blankly at the shrunken lycra in his palms before meeting Bruce’s eyes. “I admit to feeling some terror about this. She must never know…”

Bruce nodded solemnly. “Alright, it’s fine, we can fix this. We just need to-” Bruce stopped. “What in the hell…?”

Thor had begun to methodically remove his clothing, tossing them onto the floor with abandon. His mouth had settled into a grim line, and his eyes were steely with determination.

“She must never know,” Thor repeated as he continued his steady strip. “I must fix this.” He was almost naked, but showed no shame in front of Bruce. After getting down to just his underthings ( _Please, God of Thunder, STOP THERE,_ Bruce’s mind wailed), Thor reached for the uniform and started to pull it on.

“Thor…” Bruce started, before a laugh bubbled up his throat and it was all he could do to suppress it. He gulped to mask the sound, before trying again. “What on earth are you doing?”

The Asgardian was too busy struggling to pull the uniform over his muscled thighs to answer right away, doing a weird, wiggly dance to work the lycra up his body. “I will return it to its original form, I will reshape it!” Thor huffed out, breathing heavily from his efforts. He paused in his straining, managing to get the suit up to his chest, before looking Bruce in the eyes and insisting, “She must never know.”

Bruce nodded, unable to speak for fear of the bubble of laughter escaping. Thor returned to his shimmying, sweat beading across his brow as he forced his arms into the uniform and struggled to pull it up over his shoulders. _Like watching sausage being made,_ Bruce thought.

Having finally gotten the uniform on entirely, Thor tried to straighten up. His movements were aborted and awkward, the tightness of the lycra severely inhibiting his normal range of motion. He stiffly turned to face Bruce, a look of triumph flashing across his face.

Bruce scrubbed his face with his hand, allowing a controlled chuckle at the sight before him. “Thor, man, you have to know how silly you look.”

Thor grinned, a giddy smile borne of relief. “I care not, Banner, ‘tis worth it to not feel the wrath of Natasha.”

“Too late,” came a cool voice from behind them, startling them both. Natasha stood at the laundry room door and leveled them both with an even gaze. Both men stared at her, momentarily speechless, when suddenly a loud ripping sound snapped them out of their reverie. It was a seam of the uniform, splitting over the bulk of Thor’s bicep. The men stared at each other, Thor gaping wordlessly at Bruce, before turning in unison to face Natasha.

A hint of a smirk flitted across her composed face. “I hope you know some fancy Asgardian stitching technique to fix that,” she said.

To Bruce’s amazement, Thor brightened immediately. “Of course I do! My mother taught me as a boy. Self-sufficiency in the field is highly valued, and mending raiment is considered a warrior’s due,” he explained, grinning broadly and proudly.

As Thor started explaining some seemingly mythical stitching pattern to a mildly surprised Natasha, Bruce quietly placed his clothes in the washer and started the machine. He left the room quickly, lest he be pulled back into the madness that Stark Tower had become.

Later, Bruce returned to the now empty laundry room to switch his clothes over to the dryer. He took extra care to double-check that all his clothes were dryer safe, and furthermore that no one else’s garments had made their way into his pile. Satisfied that he would not repeat Thor’s mistake, Bruce started the dryer and headed back to his room.

Bruce stopped short upon seeing Thor and Natasha seated comfortably next to each other on the couch in the living room. Thor had a happy, slightly dopey expression on his face as he made tiny stitches in a pile of black fabric. Next to him, Natasha casually flipped through channels on the TV. Bruce swore he could see the corners of her mouth quirking upward into a satisfied smile.

As he walked on, Bruce felt a slight sinking in the pit of his stomach. _Even Thor was in on the game._ Thor, who didn’t understand much of what humans did, or earthly customs, was able to be included in a way Bruce never would. He got back to his room and picked up the book he’s left, thumbing to his earmarked spot. _Alone again, naturally._


	6. Cutoffs

“Could you please turn it down?” Bruce had to practically yell to be heard over the music blasting in the lab. His hands were over his ears and he could still feel the pounding of the bass in his head.

“Can’t stop,” Tony yelled back, “won’t stop.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a second, unable to keep look at the blinding grin on Tony’s face a second longer. If he did, he was going to end up trying to punch it off. And physical violence never ended well for Bruce. It always ended, not with Bruce, but with the Big Guy.

“How can you work like this?” Bruce complained, opening his eyes again to deal with the manic side of Tony. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“I don’t need to think. I am in the zone,” Tony said, waving the oxy-acetylene torch he was using in the air wildly. “ The Zone. ”

With that, Tony flipped his goggles back onto his face and turned back to his work bench. Bruce could tell he would not win this argument, mostly because Tony wasn’t even in it. He just did what he wanted. That meant Bruce was not going to get any work done that afternoon. With a sigh, he stood up and left the lab, needing a break from the brain pounding music.

“Bruce!” Pepper said, sounding pleased to see him, when he got to the top of the stairs. “How is everything going down there? I could practically feel the AC/DC from my office.”

“Ugh,” Bruce said with a frown, “Does that mean there is no escape from it?”

Pepper gave him a knowing sort of smile. “Not really. Which is why I get out of here when Tony gets like this. Why don’t you come with me? I was just heading out to lunch.”

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude,” Bruce hedged quickly, noticing how she was dressed to go out. Impressive red pumps, which perfectly matched her dress-suit. Her hair was pulled back and her makeup bright and flawless as ever. She looked like she was going to the office, or an important meeting.

“You spend too much time locked up in the lab here,” she said, not unkindly. “You need to get out more. I love Tony, but he is not always the best influence.”

Bruce pressed his lips together and thought of the last time he had been out for a reason other than a mission or an errand for his work. It had been a while. Still, he was not close enough with Pepper to feel at ease with the whole situation. “You look like you have plans already, you don’t have to mess them up for me.”

“Nonsense,” she insisted again with a smile. “I insist.”

Bruce opened his mouth to protest again, when a crashing sound came from the bottom of the stairs, followed by the music volume suddenly increasing. Bruce had not even thought that was possible. He winced, and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good,” Pepper nodded back at him, her head inclination much firmer and more resolved than his own. Then she slipped her hand into his elbow and gently pulled him toward the front door.

Bruce let her lead him, mostly because he wasn’t sure he really had a choice. From past experiences, he knew that once Pepper had her mind set on something, she got her way. And he really did need to get out of the Tower more, especially when Tony was in a mood like he was today.

Being cooped up with this many superheroes tended to skew his perspective of what was and was not normal. So many uniforms and weapons and world-saves under one roof tended to make things a little screwy. Maybe a lunch with Pepper would help him get his mind off the crazy things he was thinking about, and back in order.

There was a car with a driver already waiting and ready when they got outside. And when they got in, Pepper didn’t say anything, the driver just took off. So clearly she had already had a plan for the afternoon. It did not make Bruce feel better about the whole thing.

They didn’t talk much on the ride to the restaurant. That was fine with Bruce. He enjoyed the companionable silence. Pepper was at ease next to him, and Bruce let himself settle back into the expensive leather seat and clear his mind from the madness that that been going on back at the tower. It seemed like everyone was a little loopy lately, not just him.

All the Avengers were running around, comfortable with each other. That meant more forays into each other’s space and areas. That was not something Bruce was all too happy about. He needed to keep his distance.

Not because he wanted to. God, did he sometimes not want to.

But because he had to. Bruce getting too close to someone, too comfortable, could lead to bad things. Big, Green, Angry, bad things.

For the most part the others seemed to understand that. When they played around and teased each other, they had a way of not including him. It was not that he did not get the jokes, or was not around when it happened. He was just an observer, not a participant.

It was better that way.

The car pulled up and stopped and Bruce got out quickly, reaching a hand back into the car for Pepper. She took it with a pleased smirk and let him help her out of the car. It wasn’t until the door was closed that Bruce turned to see where they were.

“Pepper, no, this is too much,” Bruce protested, looking from the place to her outfit and back. “They are never going to let me into a place like this.”

“Of course they will,” Pepper blew him off and started toward the door. “You’re with me. And besides, you have saved the world a few times. I don’t think there are many places that would turn you away.”

“I’m not dressed for someplace like this,” Bruce tried again. He really wasn’t. He had been prepared for a day in the lab. That meant worn comfortable jeans with a tear or two in them around the knees, and an old ratty sweater that had seen better days.

Pepper gave him a critical once over and then shrugged once, delicately. “The world has seen you in worse.”

“Right,” Bruce agreed, feeling his cheeks turn a little red. It was true, because of television and all the battles he had been in, the world had seen him practically naked. Just some ripped shorts covering the bare essentials. Normally, he did not care. He did what he had to do and knew he had nothing to be ashamed of. He was comfortable in his body. But he was comfortable in his body around people he knew, and did not really love to be reminded that the entire world had seen him that way too.

Knowing she had won, Pepper tugged on the edge of his sleeve, bringing him into the restaurant with her. Bruce let himself go with her, surrendering to whatever she wanted, like she knew he would.

As she predicted, there was no trouble. The maître-d did not bat an eye at Bruce or at the change of Pepper’s reservation from one to two. In no time they were sitting at a table, menus in hand. Bruce opened his and started perusing, but he could see out of the corner of his eye that Pepper was not doing the same. Her menu was closed and her eyes were on him.

“What?” Bruce asked, squinting at the page in front of him instead of looking at her.

“Something’s bothering you,” Pepper said carefully but decisively. “You should tell me what it is.”

“The AC/DC is just still echoing in my head,” Bruce said quickly, because it was not a lie. It was also not the whole truth.

Pepper hummed, “hmmm. Sure, but that’s just Tony. He is always acting like an ass. You must be used to it by now. There is something else. You have been off for a little while. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your frown lines getting more permanent.”

“They’re not that bad!” Bruce tried to defend himself,  his fingers going to his face to trace the lines. The exact ones she was talking about. “Are they?”

“Bruce,” Pepper admonished lightly, “tell me what’s going on. Are you unhappy living in Stark Tower? Because none of us would be offended if you needed your own space, if you wanted to leave.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Bruce jumped in quickly. “I like being near the lab, and near all the action. It’s just-“ he hesitated, not sure how much he wanted to tell Pepper. But she was a nice woman, very understanding. And not the sort to let this kind of thing go. It was going to be a long lunch if he kept hesitating. Might as well get it over with. “Sometimes it feels like that’s all I am, near the action. Not in it. Not a part of it.”

“You feel left out,” Pepper nodded, like she was understanding, but he could tell she did not really get it. “In what way?”

Bruce shrugged, it was hard to pin down an exact moment. He tried anyway. “Recently, I keep seeing everyone dressing up and pretending to be each other. But no one would ever want to be me. Not that I blame them. It isn’t exactly a picnic in my head.”

Much to his surprise, Pepper let out a laugh at this and smiled. “Oh, Bruce, you have no idea how wrong you are.”

“Wrong?” Bruce repeated, confused.

“The other day, I was out shopping with Nat,” Pepper explained. “And she bought this green eye shadow. Exactly your shade. Let me tell you, she didn’t get it to bring out her eyes. I have seen specs on Tony’s computer for a Hulk sized Iron Man. Whenever Thor reenacts your fight with Loki, which he does all the time, he plays your part with glee. And the other day, I heard Steve telling Bucky that he learned to compartmentalize from you.”

Bruce could not help a small smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So, everyone but Barton, then?”

“Are you kidding?” Pepper waved a hand in the air. “Have you looked in Clint’s closet? He’s got a pretty impressive cutoff collection.”

“I’ve never seen him wear cutoffs…” Bruce wasn’t sure if it was all true. He had never seen any of the things she was talking about. The idea of them all thinking of him like that made him smile, but it also lacked any evidence.

Pepper rolled her eyes, “Of course not. He doesn’t want to make fun of what you perceive to be your disability. None of them do. We all know how sensitive you are on the subject.”

“Oh,” he said, not sure what else to respond. But the smile on his face was real now, and he was feeling much better, much more settled.

Pepper seemed to get the message, changing the subject back to the menus in their hands. “So, what are you going to have for lunch? Tony’s paying, so go crazy.”


End file.
